


Portion Control

by rabbitprint



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cannibalism by Proxy, Gen, Meol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitprint/pseuds/rabbitprint
Summary: Spoilers for MSQ 5.0, set pre-game. A Ran'jit short.After every ascension of another blessed soul, the citizens of Eulmore feast.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020





	Portion Control

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt #9 from FFxivWrite 2020: 'lush.'_

The feast this time is even more opulent than the last.

Eulmore's bonded have decorated the entire ballroom with color. Each table overflows with bounty, piled high with delicacies from all over Norvrandt. Pale slices of Lakeland fish fan out in peach-colored spirals around leaves which have been preserved in maple sugar, ferried straight from the Greatwood. Il Mheg fruits slump in multicolored pyramids, ripe and seeping. A spray of grapes dangles over the edge of a platter; a few clusters have fallen off already, dragged down by their own weight to be crushed beneath the careless shoes of Eulmore's free citizens.

Each setting is a lush canvas of culinary mastery, bonded cooks jockeying in competition to show off their skills. No expense has been spared. And, decorating every dish, is the presence of meol: shaped in cunning biscuits and loaves, kneaded into crumbs for breading, and ground down even further into a pearlescent glaze which has been smeared over roasts and cakes alike.

All in celebration of another ascension.

From his view on the sidelines -- the collar of his formal uniform crisp against the skin of his throat -- Ran'jit watches the citizens of Eulmore wade into the feast. Some of them wander freely from table to table as they pick at the delights, congealing into small knots of gossip and giggling. Others take to their seats with eager glee, flapping their hands again and again to signal the nearest bonded for more food upon their plates.

Like Ran'jit, the other guards in attendance keep their arms folded as they stand rigidly at attention, taking care not to be noticed lest they blemish the revel. He does his best to blend in too. _Swords spoil the appetite_ , Vauthry had reminded him once in a fit of irritation, and Ran'jit had bowed his head and swallowed the words obediently.

He cannot turn completely invisible, however, and it is only a matter of time before one of Eulmore's citizens -- sniffing around for more social opportunities -- wheedles her way up to him.

" _Such_ a gift this time from Lord Vauthry!" she coos. Her fingers pinch the stem of a half-empty wineglass. A smudge of meol glistens stickily on her cheek. "We are beyond fortunate that his Lordship can commune with the Sin Eaters. The days before they shared such blessings with us simply pale in comparison, no?"

Ran'jit flicks his eyes towards her glass. He can feel the emptiness of hunger gnawing at his belly, but none of the dishes tempt him. "Yes."

The terseness of his answer does not warn her away; the woman takes another step closer. "It saddens me to see that you must work without relief, while the rest of us take our leisure. Shall I have someone fetch a plate for you, General?"

He presses his lips into a hard line at the thought. "I... am fasting," he claims quickly. "'Tis what the discipline of my training requires. Please, enjoy the dinner in my stead."

In ignorance, she gapes and then blushes, tittering behind a hand. "Your austerity is admirable, General. Why, at this rate, Lord Vauthry will surely grant you your own ascension soon, and _then_ where will we be?"

Mercifully, the lowering level of wine in her glass is enough to draw the woman away again -- back to scrounge for more meol, wandering inevitably towards it like an ant on a sugar trail. To devour her own kin, laid out upon the table to be dissected by fork and knife: Sin Eaters, eaten in turn by sin.

Each feast is a cycle. Eulmore's citizens have become cousins to the eaters in more ways than they expect. The city's appetite waxes without limit. Some of the Sin Eaters are made into meol, which goes to feed the people. Some of the people, in turn, are made into eaters. Supply and demand: a worm which gnaws upon its own tail, choking itself as it swallows more of its own body down its throat.

It is a perfect, closed loop.

Yet, a few obstacles remain. As Eulmore's fields slowly wither, more meol is required as a substitute for what is lost. More meol means more Sin Eaters. Care is required to harvest from them without destroying their aether wastefully. Ran'jit still remembers Vauthry's early, ill-fated attempts.

The citizen chosen for ascension this time had been an elderly man, an aging airship engineer who had meekly accepted the rule of the previous mayor, and then of Vauthry in turn. He should have been obedient to Eulmore for the few years remaining to him. So it was assumed -- until one of the officials had reported that the man had been overheard grumbling about the state of Derelicts, making insinuations that Eulmore could do more to provide for the vagrants clustered at its door.

_Best not to let the devoted go to waste_ , Vauthry had said, and so Ran'jit had dutifully sent down two of his soldiers to the man's door before the meat could expire.

One Sin Eater is born. Another, therefore, falls.

In contrast, Ran'jit does not know which of Eulmore's ascended citizens had been used to provide food for the meal this time. Too many of the Sin Eaters look exactly the same, and he was not there for the killing. A single eater could not have generated this much meol, no matter how thinly it was divided up. The cooks might have used an entire family's worth. Wild eaters might have been called in, commanded by Vauthry to fly tamely to the balconies and lay their heads down for the knife.

He does not miss having to perform the task of butchery. No love exists within him for such circuses. Gathering the other foodstuffs required for such an extravagant celebration had beggared the lower levels; Ran'jit's soldiers will be on half-rations for the next two weeks, with all their available funds having been spent on trade for creams, sugars and flour. And -- though he rarely sees her now -- Minfilia has always hated the smell of meol. She is the only one in Eulmore who does, when even Ran'jit must admit that the scent reminds him of the freshest bread imaginable.

He may often bring the reek of blood back with him to the Understory, but he does not need to carry an eater's stink either.

All of Ran'jit's duties had excused him from the first half of the preparations. That was all they could accomplish. There is one part of the ceremony that even he does not dare absent himself from: the transformation of a citizen into an eater, and everything that it entails.

Despite the gluttony of the celebrations afterwards, Vauthry only welcomes a few of Eulmore's inhabitants to witness the ascension itself. All the man's invitations are careful ones. A handful of senior officers in the military, just in case of any physical disturbances. A few of the more prominent free citizens, depending on how their influence was positioned within the city for the year. The remaining advisors of Eulmore's cabinet.

Ran'jit.

It is an honor, as Vauthry often reminds them. Here, in this most intimate of miracles, they are allowed to bear witness to yet another soul being reborn into salvation. Norvrandt's doom falls away as flesh is transformed into the purest Light. Entrusted with proof of Lord Vauthry's powers, his guests may bathe in the man's glory, smug in the knowledge that they are among his chosen favorites, clasped deep within his trust. They stand within his inner circle. They are the safest people in all of Eulmore. So long as they obey their lord, they need never fear being the next ones chained to the pedestal, waiting for a Sin Eater to wind its arms around their shoulders and siphon the life from their screaming bodies.

Vauthry makes certain Ran'jit is there every time.

At each ceremony, Ran'jit keeps his gaze forward. He does not turn away. He knows what happens to those who do.

Afterwards -- once the revel is over and the feast hall is abandoned of merriment, workers stacking up the empty dishes like rows of stripped bone -- Ran'jit always dismisses his soldiers for the evening and walks in long circles around Eulmore's open balconies. The ocean winds scour his face and clothing, washing away the reek of sugar and of bread.

He eats nothing until the next morning. When he does, he makes it with his own two hands.


End file.
